Robin Cook - Blindsight

“I’m impressed,” Laurie said. “Obviously I’ve never seen anything quite like this. Where do you keep your records?”

Jordan took Laurie through another door that led from his office into a long hall. At the end of the hall was a windowless room with a bank of file cabinets, a copy machine, and a computer terminal.

“All the records are in the file cabinets,” he said. “But most of the material is duplicated on the computer on hard disk.”

“Are these the records that the burglars went through?” Laurie asked.

“They are,” Jordan said. “And that’s the copy machine. I’m very meticulous about my records. I could tell someone had been in them because the contents in some had been put out of order. I know the copy machine was used after we closed because I have my secretary record the number from the machine at the end of each day.”

“What about Paul Cerino’s record?” Laurie asked. “Was that disturbed?”

“I don’t know,” Jordan said. “But it’s a good question.”

Jordan flipped through his “C” drawer and pulled out a manila folder.

“You were right,” he said after paging through. “This one was disturbed as well. See this information sheet? It’s supposed to be in the front. Instead it’s in the back.”

“Is there any way to tell if it had been copied?”

Jordan thought for a moment but shook his head. “Not that I can think of. What’s going through your mind?”

“I’m not sure,” Laurie said. “But maybe this supposed burglary should convince you to be a bit more careful. I know you think taking care of this Cerino character is mildly entertaining, but you have to understand that he is apparently one nasty man. And maybe even more important, he has some very nasty enemies.”

“You think Cerino could have been responsible for my break-in?” Jordan asked.

“I truly don’t know,” Laurie said. “But it’s possible, one way or the other. Maybe his enemies don’t want you to fix him up. There are all sorts of possibilities. The only thing I do know is that these guys play for keeps. Over the last two days I’ve done autopsies on two young men who’d been murdered gangland style, and one of them had what looked like acid burns in his eye.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Jordan said.

“I’m not trying to scare you just to scare you,” Laurie said. “I’m only saying this so that you will think about what you are getting yourself involved with by taking care of these people. I’ve been told that the two major crime families, the Vaccarros and the Lucias, are currently at each other’s throats. That’s why Cerino got the acid slung in his face. He’s one of the Vaccarro bosses.”

“Wow,” Jordan said. “This does put a different complexion on things. Now you got me worried. Luckily I’ll be operating on Cerino soon, so this will all be behind me.”

“Is Cerino scheduled?” Laurie asked.

Jordan shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said. “I’m waiting on material, as usual.”

“Well, I think you should do it as soon as possible. And I wouldn’t advertise the date and the time.”

Jordan put the contents of Cerino’s file back into its proper order and replaced it in the file drawer. “Want to see the rest of the office?” he asked.

“Sure,” Laurie said.

Jordan took Laurie deeper into the office complex, showing her several rooms devoted to special ophthalmologic testing. What impressed her most were the two state-of-the-art operating rooms complete with all the requisite ancillary equipment.

“You have a fortune invested here,” Laurie said once they’d reached the final room, a photography lab.

“No doubt about it,” Jordan agreed. “But it pays off handsomely. Currently I’m grossing between one point five and two million dollars a year.”

Laurie swallowed. The figure was staggering. Although she knew her father, the cardiac surgeon, had to have a huge income to cover his life-style, she’d never before been slapped with such an astronomical figure. Knowing what she did about the plight of American medicine and even the shoestring budget the medical examiner’s office ran under, it seemed like an obscene waste of resources.

“How about coming by and seeing my apartment?” Jordan said. “If you like the office, you’ll love the apartment. It was designed by the same people.”

“Sure,” Laurie said, mainly as a reflex. She was still trying to absorb Jordan’s comment about his income.

As they retraced their route through the office, Laurie asked after Jordan’s secretary. “Did you ever hear from her?”

“No,” Jordan said, obviously still angry about the no-show. “She never called and there was never any answer at her home. I can only imagine it has something to do with her no-good husband. If she’d not been such a good secretary, I would have gotten rid of her just because of him. He has a restaurant in Bayside, but he’s also involved with a number of shady deals. She confided in me in order to borrow bail on several occasions. He’s never been convicted, but he’s spent plenty of time on Rikers Island.”

“Sounds like a mobster himself,” Laurie said.

Once they got into the back of the car, Laurie asked Jordan his missing secretary’s name.

“Marsha Schulman,” Jordan said. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” Laurie said.

It didn’t take long for Thomas to pull up to the private entrance of Trump Tower. The doorman opened the door for Laurie to get out, but she held back.

“Jordan,” she said, looking at him in the dim light of the interior of the limo, “would you be angry if I asked for a raincheck on seeing your apartment? I just noticed the time, and I have to get up for work in the morning.”

“Not at all,” Jordan said. “I understand perfectly. I’ve got surgery again myself at the crack of dawn. But there is a condition.”

“Which is?”

“That we have dinner again tomorrow night.”

“You can put up with me two evenings in a row?” Laurie asked. She’d not been “rushed” like this since high school. She was flattered but wary.

“With pleasure,” Jordan said, humorously affecting an English accent.

“All right,” Laurie said. “But let’s pick a place not quite so formal.”

“Done,” Jordan said. “You like Italian?”

“I love Italian.”

“Then it will be Palio,” Jordan said. “At eight.”

Vinnie Dominick paused outside of the Vesuvio Restaurant on Corona Avenue in Elmhurst and took advantage of his reflection in the window to smooth his hair and adjust his Gucci tie. Satisfied, he motioned to Freddie Capuso to open the door.

Vinnie’s nickname since junior high school was “the Prince.” He’d been considered a handsome fellow whom the neighborhood girls had found quite attractive. His features were full but well sculpted. Favoring a tailored look, he heavily moussed his dark hair and brushed it straight back from his forehead. He looked considerably younger than his forty years and, unlike most of his contemporaries, he prided himself on his physical prowess. A high school basketball star, he’d kept his game over the years, playing three nights a week at St. Mary’s gym.

Entering the restaurant, Vinnie scanned the room. Freddie and Richie crowded in behind him. Vinnie quickly spotted whom he was looking for: Paul Cerino. The restaurant still had a few diners since its kitchen stayed open until eleven, but most of its clientele had already departed. It was a good location and time for a meeting.

Vinnie walked to Paul’s table with the confidence of one meeting an old, good friend. Freddie and Richie followed several steps behind. When Vinnie reached the table, the two men sitting with Paul stood. Vinnie recognized them as Angelo Facciolo and Tony Ruggerio.